


beaches & cream

by stvebrnes



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Birthday Sex, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Bucky Barnes is Steve Rogers' Girl, Established Relationship, M/M, Married Couple, Pet Names, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Slight feminization, Top Steve Rogers, i will die on this hill, steve out here making 102 look sexy asf
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:27:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25073860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stvebrnes/pseuds/stvebrnes
Summary: He’s about to step away when a muffled hoarse voice, somehow deeper than his normal speaking voice, comes from beneath the covers. “Bucky.”It’s almost an order, sleep-drunk from a man who definitely has no reason to be awake at - Bucky checks the hall clock - 5:16 in the morning. He goes over, his mug in his left hand, right hand trailing up Steve’s outstretched leg as he approaches. His fingers ghost over the covers, up over his body, coming to rest on his elbow.“Yeah Rogers?” He takes a sip of his coffee, laughing a little into the mug as Steve makes a face and a dissatisfied grunt.“‘M not Rogers.”Bucky looks at the little glint of gold on Steve’s left hand, still stretched towards Bucky’s side of the bed. “Not anymore, I suppose.”
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 10
Kudos: 201





	beaches & cream

**Author's Note:**

> happy birthday steve, wherever you are! beta'd by gsquashington/kesselin
> 
> i haven't written anything in months so...i hope y'all like this!!

Bucky still wakes up first. 

He’s never been a “morning person” - in fact, he would vehemently disagree with the mere existence of there being such a personality - but he still is the one who wakes up first. It’s not so much because of the nightmares so much as it is some old way of life. If he doesn’t think about it, he’ll stay up all night, but wake up at 5:04am, every morning, on the dot. Usually he can roll back over and head back to sleep, hiding his face in Steve’s chest and catching a few more hours of rest. 

At the beach house, though, the urge is harder to fight. 

So he gets up first, because it feels like that’s the natural thing to do, and because Steve can be an absolute bull if he doesn’t get enough hours, so Bucky likes to leave him to it. How he sleeps through the racket of the coffee maker first thing in the morning, Bucky doesn’t know. It made more sense in the first life - and both Sam and Shuri hate when he calls it that, but it’s the only thing that makes sense to his brain - when Steve was half deaf and Bucky had to be strategic with his conversations. 

Now, he just thinks Steve’s accustomed to it. 

The house is way too big for just the two of them, but everyone else is arriving later. There won’t be fireworks this year, so Bucky suspects some will come traipsing in tomorrow morning, right when he’s waking up. 

He stirs the coffee, muscle memory proving useless because he doesn’t add sugar nor cream to it. Steve hates him using a spoon he doesn’t need to, mostly because Bucky leaves them all over the kitchen with little rings of coffee on the counter beneath them. 

He’s not particularly hungry, but he knows he needs to eat something with his meds, so he pops three bite sized lemon cakes into his mouth and washes them down with coffee. His mother would be appalled. 

A quick peek into the bedroom shows Steve completely passed out, well-muscled arm thrown over his eyes as if to publicly declare to the world that he is _not_ ready. Bucky watches him for a few moments, the easy rise and fall of his chest, the way his legs still spread through the entire bed as if needing to take up even _more_ space, the soft spread of his lips because he still breathes through his mouth in the hot months as if he doesn’t trust his nose to make it. 

He’s about to step away when a muffled hoarse voice, somehow deeper than his normal speaking voice, comes from beneath the covers. “Bucky.” 

It’s almost an order, sleep-drunk from a man who definitely has no reason to be awake at - Bucky checks the hall clock - 5:16 in the morning. He goes over, his mug in his left hand, right hand trailing up Steve’s outstretched leg as he approaches. His fingers ghost over the covers, up over his body, coming to rest on his elbow. 

“Yeah Rogers?” He takes a sip of his coffee, laughing a little into the mug as Steve makes a face and a dissatisfied grunt. 

“‘M not Rogers.” 

Bucky looks at the little glint of gold on Steve’s left hand, still stretched towards Bucky’s side of the bed. “Not anymore, I suppose.” 

The arm moves, revealing furrowed brows. The soft purple of the morning almost obscures the details but Bucky already knows the pout on this man’s face. He smoothes over the furrow with his thumb, clicking his tongue disapprovingly. “Your face is gonna get stuck like that.” 

Steve sticks his lower lip out, purposefully furrowing his brows further. “You’d be pouting too if you woke up alone on your birthday.” 

Bucky takes another sip of his coffee, still watching him. “You’re 102, big guy. Haven’t you had enough?” 

“Yeah but only like...what, 35 of those count? 38? I was only awake for 38 of those.” 

“That’s not true, you slept through your 16th birthday party because--” 

“I’m not talking about _parties,_ I’m talking about _days._ ” 

“You woke up at 3am, threw up for a few hours, passed out again for the _rest of the daylight,_ Stevie, and then woke up again at 8pm.” 

Steve scrunches his nose and pokes at his shoulder, but finally forces himself to sit up. Thanks to the serum there’s nothing for his body to settle as he moves for the first time in six hours, but the expression on his face still tells Bucky that he’s feeling a little sore. “Whatever. Point is, no, I haven’t had enough birthdays yet.” 

“Mmmm, I think you’re being selfish.” He moves so he’s now sitting between Steve’s legs, his back against Steve’s chest, but slouched down enough that he isn’t sitting fully upright. He still has the coffee in his left hand, kept stable from sheer will alone. “I woke up alone on plenty of my birthdays.” 

“Your birthday falls in the middle of that sprinter hellspot,” Steve grumbles, wrapping one arm possessively around Bucky’s chest. Bucky feels him nuzzle against his hair, even as he continues to bitch about how long the overlap between spring and winter - called “sprinter” in this idiot’s mind - has gotten and just how horrible it is. 

He cuts him off with a quiet, “Everyone’s arriving tonight. Do you know what you want to do?” 

Steve’s rant comes to a standstill. “I mean...what do you think people want to do?” 

“I think they want to celebrate an old man’s birthday and get free cake.” 

“Is there gonna be?” 

Bucky pauses. “Well I’m not making you buy your own birthday cake, that would be elder abuse.” 

“You’re _literally_ older than me--” 

“ **_But_ **if you wanted to pay me back in other ways…” He trails off, invitation clear. 

The sun still hasn’t come up yet, the room still dark in that pre-morning light. Both he and Steve like the curtains drawn, having retired from public life in more than one way. Even with this barrier, they have the faint tinges of first light creeping into view. Sunrises on the ocean make the house worth it. Of course, there was a time when neither he nor Steve would have considered having a _house_ to their names, much less a separate property specifically for vacationing. But, 70 years of combined back pay, royalties, and assorted other government checks will work wonders, even when the resident bacon roller no longer gives gifts as freely as before. 

Bucky shifts his weight a little, pressing back against Steve, intending on removing the temptation to go down spiraling thoughts. He focuses on Steve’s fingers drawing light circles on his bare skin. Artists hands, even now, even after everything. 

Steve hums, breath lightly tickling the shell of Bucky’s ear. “And what would those ways entail?” 

Bucky takes a deliberate final sip of his coffee, draining the mug in one go, before leaning over and setting it on the bedside table. He looks up at Steve, their mouths but a hair's breadth apart as he whispers, “Whatever you want, sweetheart.” 

Steve closes the gap, taking his mouth in a soft kiss. Well, soft for them. Bucky’s pretty sure if this were to be with anyone else, there may be some bruises. The thought of Steve kissing anyone else makes his blood boil, even if it is his own fault, so he nips at Steve’s lower lip, trying to give as good as he’s getting. Somehow they wind up rolling so Bucky’s on his back, Steve over top of him. Bucky has his hands in Steve’s hair, longer now in retirement, tugging a little at the dark golden strands. 

He’s come so far from the small cherub he used to resemble, but that makes him no less angelic, no matter what the old books might say. 

When Bucky pulls back for air, Steve wastes no time kissing down his jaw and neck, leaving more marks as he goes. 

“ _Fuck_ , baby, gonna mark me up before everyone gets here?” he breathes, turning his head to the side and letting Steve have more room. Steve growls, perhaps at the easy way Bucky lets him have access to his body, or at the question posed, but either way Bucky isn’t complaining. He feels the way Steve’s hand squeezes down on his hip, and he smirks, knowing he’s found the real reason. Wrapping his legs around Steve’s waist, he pulls him impossibly closer, welcoming the weight. 

“Yeah? What, wanna show them that you still got it? Still know how to fuck me right?” 

Steve finally pulls off his neck, and Bucky wishes, not for the first time, that the serum would let bruises remain for a little while longer. He bites his lower lip and rolls his hips up, doing his best to look as innocent as possible. He knows how this gets to Steve, this reversal of the way the world sees them. 

He knows how much Steve loves taking him apart. 

“Yeah, you know I do,” Steve murmurs, cheeks flushed a little as he ruts against Bucky. “I’ll take such good care of you, fuck baby.” 

They’re both only in boxers, as they run too hot to share a bed with much clothing in the summer, but it doesn’t take all that much longer before they’re both undressed. Bucky lets Steve push him onto his front, stretches his arms out in front of him to loosely grip the edge of the bed. He knows how this goes, and he looks over his shoulder to smirk at Steve. 

Steve’s not the only one whose physique has changed dramatically in modern times. And though Bucky held some reservations at first, that maybe Steve didn’t want him once he was actually getting the nutrition he needed, Steve had been sure to convince him otherwise.

Thoroughly. 

For a week straight. 

He isn’t expecting the slight slap to his ass this early in the morning, the shock adding to the pleasure. He groans, letting his head fall to the soft comforter, letting his hips rise a little into Steve’s hand. “Gotcha wound up Stevie?” 

“Of course, free cake,” punctuated with another affectionate slap. 

It takes Bucky slightly longer than he would like to admit to catch up to that reference, but when he does he groans and buries his face in the comforter. “Don’t make me regret fucking you, Barnes.” 

“You haven’t fucked anyone in years.” The retort comes easy, and the fingers that gently guide the plug out of him are equally easy to take. 

Bucky squeezes the edge of the mattress, biting into the comforter as he pushes his hips back. Steve easily meets him, curling the two fingers before quickly adding a third, the stretch drawing a sharp moan. The retort he had in mind fizzles away into nothing as Steve fingers him, opening him up to take him again. It’s gratuitous, they just fucked the night prior, but they both have a thing for this part of prep so they might as well indulge. 

After all, this is a birthday present. 

He feels the scrape of Steve’s beard against his lower back, kisses scattered throughout. The feeling sends shivers up his spine. The beard isn’t new, but damn it _feels_ new every time, because who could have ever thought little Stevie Rogers could grow a beard like _this_? 

The scattered kisses draw up closer, as Steve’s fingers pick up the pace, only enough to let him feel the stretch. By the time Steve’s nuzzling up against where he’d bitten earlier, Bucky’s desperate enough to start letting out soft whimpers with each breath. 

“Stevie, baby, please--” 

Steve hushes him with a gentle kiss to his shoulder, right where the metal and flesh meet. Bucky’s cheeks flush in a way that has nothing to do with the fact that he can feel Steve withdrawing his fingers and instead slicking his cock. That little gesture means more than Bucky cares to say, and definitely more than he cares to analyze at the current moment. 

“I gotcha Buck, gonna give you what you need.” Steve fills him in one steady push, the pleasure so great Bucky isn’t sure he’s even _breathing_ through it. He lets out a choked whimper, one hand moving back to wrap around Steve’s wrist, needing more contact. He feels both completely contained and wildly untethered, and it’s a limbo that only one Steven Grant Rogers can put him in. 

Steve wastes no time. He knows what he wants, and he’s going to get it. The thing Bucky likes the most about post-serum Steve, if he had to say it out loud, is the fact that he can actually _talk_ now while the fuck. Before, his lungs could do one thing at a time; keep him breathing or let him have a conversation. 

Now? 

Now he’s able to run his mouth and slam Bucky into the sheets and even though Bucky’s world very quickly narrows down only to the low purr of his boyfriend’s voice and the slick slide of his cock against the sheets, he’s _very_ appreciative of that. 

He feels a hand in his hair, tugging him up. He brings part of the comforter with him, still trapped between his teeth. He looks up at Steve, and he knows he has that well-fucked, unfocused expression on his face, but he can’t _help_ it. Steve’s calling him babydoll and sweetheart and fucking him so good with that thick cock that makes him see more stars than the stars and stripes on the old uniform. He pushes up so he’s on his left hand, locking his elbow to fully support his weight without having to think about it. His right slides up to Steve’s shoulder as Steve’s hand comes and grips his jaw, tight and unyielding, but not enough to seriously injure. 

He just _holds_ him there, holds him so easily, and it’s so easy to forget about everything else going on in the world, save for right here in this bed. Trapped between his Stevie and the bed, Bucky opens his mouth, letting two fingers in for him to suck on. 

The thick explicative storm that barely registers in Bucky’s mind makes him smile, a few seconds delayed, even as he keeps working over Steve’s fingers. 

“God, I-- baby, you’re so _tight,_ so good for me, fuck!” 

The words carry little meaning but the way Steve’s breathing shifts tells Bucky all he needs to know. He squeezes his grip on Steve’s shoulder, lets his mouth fall open to messily lick his tongue over Steve’s fingers, practically panting. He doesn’t need to say anything; Steve knows him well enough to know what he would say if he could. 

“Yeah doll, come for me, you can come for me sweetheart. Let me see you come apart.” It’s not a command but it’s damn near close enough. Bucky couldn’t refuse if he tried. 

Steve groans when he feels Bucky fall apart beneath him, and Bucky knows there’s only a little bit of time before he comes inside him again, adding to the mess from the night prior. He’s whimpering, the pleasure/pain blurring into one, oversensitivity kicking in. It’s _good_. 

It doesn’t take long for Steve to come. He fills the sweet baby beneath him, Bucky reveling in the sensation. Steve collapses on top of him, pressing him into the sheets and into his own mess. 

Bucky grunts at the feeling, but it doesn’t matter enough to make him move yet. Steve’s still pressing little kisses along his shoulders, even as he continues to slowly fuck into his sweetheart. 

By now, the sun has begun to properly rise. Amber golden light spills through the curtain, barely illuminating the bedroom. Bucky feels the warmth cut across his face, a direct line over his nose, cheek, partially blocked by Steve’s hair as he leans down. Bucky lets him take his mouth in a warm kiss, turned more passionate as Steve doesn’t let up. 

There’s many things about Bucky’s version of the serum that are the same as Steve, but the sexual stamina was something unique to Steve himself. Not that Bucky doesn’t _want_ Steve, but even prior to the serum, Steve had been the perpetual horny one. It’s just that he can act on it now.

Steve pulls out, slowly rolling Bucky onto his back. “There’s my girl,” he softly murmurs, cupping Bucky’s cheek. 

Bucky _blushes_ , squirming a little under Steve’s gaze. “Never left, Stevie.” 

Steve’s gaze turns heated, and Bucky barely had time to brace himself for the feeling of being filled again. He’s gotten real good at filling Bucky without looking, knowing his body, even after all this time, even after all these changes. 

“Never left,” he repeats, gasping as Steve grips his hips tight enough to bruise, yanking him flush against him. “All yours, baby, only yours.” 

“Say it, doll.” Steve gives him that command with the sharp thrust that hits his prostate dead on. “You like being my girl?” 

Bucky nods, back arching as he groans out at Steve’s impeccable aim. “Y-yeah, Stevie, yeah baby. Love being your girl: best part of me.”

Steve groans, leaning down and taking Bucky’s nipple into his mouth. He flicks his tongue against the hardened flesh, and Bucky can’t help but whimper. He works one hand into Steve’s hair, lightly tugging. He manages to get his other hand down to Steve’s ass, kneading into that perfectly sculpted muscle. He loves feeling the power locked in those muscles as he fucks him, feeling the heavy weight above him and clenching in his palm. 

Steve, the punk that he is, pulls off his nipple with a soft pop, only to run his beard against it as he moves to the other one. “Perfect tits for a perfect girl,” he murmurs, and Bucky must be getting easy in his old age because even that’s enough to push him over the edge a second time.

Steve nips his teeth against his nipple, working it over until he’s flushed red. When he pulls back - still fucking him, still like a jackhammer, still never swaying in his pace - he looks down at Bucky spread on the sheets.

He’s sure he makes quite the picture: stomach wet with his own release, chest red, lips swollen and parted, eyes half closed, his whole body rocking with each of Steve’s movements. And he must be right, because Steve _stares_ at his body, drinking in every detail with that eidetic mind, and he comes in him with a growl that makes Bucky’s eyes roll back. 

He must pass out briefly, because when he wakes up, Steve has them both on their sides, pressed close together. Bucky can feel the slow slide of Steve’s mess out of his well fucked hole, and he lets out a soft chuckle against Steve’s collarbones. “You do know it’s _your_ birthday, right?” he mumbles, only to get a squeeze to his ass in response. 

“Oh I know. And this is how I wanna spend it.” 

They don’t leave the bedroom for another two rounds. They only stop due to hunger, Bucky’s lemon cakes and coffee from earlier not holding up in the face of a morning like this. Even though it’s Steve’s birthday, Bucky lets him make breakfast for them both, if only because Steve’s always been the better cook. They have breakfast on the couch, watching the sun rise through the large panes of glass overlooking the ocean.

Bucky has his second mug of coffee like that, wearing Steve’s sweatpants and nothing else. Steve’s got just underwear on, pressing Bucky against his side. It’s the most calm that he’s had in a long time. 

“Happy Birthday, Stevie.” It comes out meaning much more than that. It means _I love you._ It means _who would have thought we’d ever get here?_ It means _I don’t want to share you but I know I have to._ It means _I missed you, and I miss you still, so don’t ever leave._ It means everything. 

Steve smiles and kisses his temple, nosing into the dark hair. “I love you, sweetheart. Best birthday ever.” 

Bucky chuckles, closing his eyes. “Now I feel like I’ve been issued a challenge.” 

“Bucky--” 

“If this is the best birthday ever, what about next year? How am I supposed to top this?” 

Steve pauses for slightly too long of a second, and Bucky pokes his ribs. “You stop it, I won’t--” 

“Not even if I ask?” 

Bucky opens his mouth but no sound comes out. He’s still gaping like a fish when a knock sounds from the first floor, three floors down.

“Steve! Barnes!” Sam’s voice rings up from the front door. “The party has arrived! Hope you’re decent!” 

“Not morally, but I’m wearing pants if that’s what you’re asking,” Bucky mutters. Steve pinches his ribs, but his laugh erases any latent sting. 

**Author's Note:**

> hmu on [twitter](https://twitter.com/stvebrnes) 🖤


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